


Waiting, Watching

by wowbright



Series: Fidelity Series [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Sex, Cuckolding, Group Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, POV Blaine, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowbright/pseuds/wowbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fidelity-verse Blaine fantasizing about his best friend fucking his boyfriend. So there’s that, plus a few other voyeuristic fantasies. Takes place parallel to Chapter 9/“One Day I’ll Fly Away” and 3.12 “The Spanish Teacher." Voyeurism, Kurt fucking lots of guys (in Blaine’s imagination), masturbation. With feels, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting, Watching

Blaine’s brain has been taunting him all week. He’s off his painkillers now and back on coffee (more coffee than he should probably be drinking, but his aunt just got back from Hawaii and brought with her what seriously must be the best coffee in the world, and he can’t seem to stop himself from drinking close to a full pot at breakfast and a half-pot in the afternoon), so it only takes him two or three hours in the morning to do his catch-up work, and then his brain starts looking for other things to ponder.

Kurt is trying to keep him from getting too lonely. They text before school and on and off throughout the day. They talk just before dinner and again before bed (though Blaine has had to adapt his skin-sloughing regimen to avoid the eye patch). But it’s not enough. Talking and texting aren’t the same as being in the same room with somebody.

Blaine misses being able to glance up from his work to watch Kurt, absorbed in a book or in writing or sketching. He misses watching Kurt chat with Rachel about New York or with Mercedes about clothing. He misses Kurt in the kitchen – assembling ingredients, laughing with Carole over an inside joke, explaining to his father the finer distinctions between "folding” and “stirring.”

He misses watching Kurt be Kurt, without reference to Blaine.

And so Blaine’s mind keeps going back to this fantasy – the one Kurt knows about to some extent, but probably doesn’t understand how deep it runs.

The January after Kurt transferred to Dalton, Blaine had the dream for the first time. In it, he had just left Warblers practice and was on his way to the library when he realized he was missing something, although he wasn’t quite sure what it was. All he knew was that when he patted his pockets, they were empty, and his hands were empty, too; and that just seemed  _wrong._ So he turned around and made his way back to the common room, hoping that the custodian hadn’t locked it up yet.

When he got there, the door was wide open and the custodian was nowhere in sight. Kurt was inside, leaning against one of the couches and looking out the window, his back to the door. As soon as Blaine saw him, he realized that  _Kurt_  was the thing that he had forgotten and needed to take with him.

“I’m so glad I found you!” Blaine said, but Kurt didn’t turn around. Blaine kept talking but, again, no response – like Blaine wasn’t there at all. It was only then that Blaine realized Warbler Nick was in there, too, kneeling in front of Kurt, rubbing his face against the front of Kurt’s pants and moaning, “Please, Kurt. Please let me.”

Kurt smiled down at Nick in that sweet, benevolent way that the icons in Blaine’s childhood church used to. “Seduce me,” he said. “Make me want it as much as you do.”

So Nick did. He slid his hands under Kurt’s shirt, and Blaine watched the way it made Kurt tremble and bite his lower lip. He watched them kiss, watched the way Kurt’s mouth opened to Nick, felt the way their tongues moving greedily back and forth, listened to the clear tones of Kurt’s satisfied humming. He watched as Kurt’s hands – usually so elegant and composed – became eager and clumsy, clambering at the buttons of Nick’s jacket, Nick’s shirt, Nick’s pants. He watched Nick fall to his knees again and stare hungrily at Kurt’s bulge, and beg again. “Please, Kurt –  _please_.”

Blaine watched Kurt stroke Nick’s hair, turn Nick’s head so that his lips were kissing Kurt’s cock through the fabric, and whisper, “Yes, you may.”

Blaine doesn’t remember the exact logistics of how Kurt’s cock ended up in Nick’s mouth – or maybe his dream just skipped the part with the unzipping and unbuttoning to go straight for the good stuff. All Blaine knows is that when Nick took it, Kurt threw his head back with such a pleased, open-mouthed growl that Blaine came on the spot, and awoke with his heart hammering so hard that he wondered if he should go to the ER.

Blaine kind of hated Nick for the next few days, and was also pretty impressed with him at the same time. He alternated between wanting to trip Nick in the hallway and hugging him for a job well done.

And then he had the dream again, only it was with Warbler Jeff. A few nights later, it was with Warbler Trent. Another night, it was with a line of Dalton students stretching all the way from the common room to the dining hall, each one of them hoping to be called up next for a chance to make Kurt come.

If Blaine didn’t come during the dream, he’d come as he woke up afterward. He learned to hold back, to draw the fantasy past the moment of panicked waking, to breathe deep and quickly tug at his balls so that it wouldn’t all be over before he was fully conscious. And then he would let the images linger – of their pleased faces as Kurt fucked their mouths and their cocks and their asses, of the absolute ecstasy on Kurt’s face with every kiss and thrust – and Blaine would come so hard his teeth hurt.

Masturbating daily to thoughts of every student in Dalton getting fucked by his best friend – it wasn’t exactly where Blaine expected to end up in life, but it was kind of a nice place now that he was there. The only problem was that he couldn’t figure out what it  _meant._  Because, if he was attracted to Kurt like he sometimes thought he might be, then his fantasies should be about Kurt alone, or Kurt with  _him._  The idea of Kurt with all these other guys should send him into a jealous rage – but other than that first time with Nick, it didn’t. It was just  _hot._

So he couldn’t be in love with Kurt.

Until he was.

When he and Kurt started dating, the fantasy faded. Blaine was wrapped up in the newness of Kurt’s skin, his lips, his layers. He was lost in the giddiness of first dances and first  _I-love-yous_  and first summer kisses and first orgasms together. He couldn’t think much beyond Kurt’s cock and smile and ass and navel and sighs.

The fantasy faded, and Blaine thought it was gone, a delightfully curious aside in his masturbatory history.

But in the past few weeks, it’s come back with a vengeance. In hallucinatory dreams and half-sleep, the images come to him: another man kneeling down and opening his mouth to be fucked by Kurt’s cock; larger hands than Blaine’s spreading Kurt’s ass open, Kurt’s hole clenching around thick fingers that slide deftly in and out until he comes just from that; another man’s cock – maybe thicker, maybe longer, but most importantly,  _different_  – moving inside Kurt and giving him a degree of pleasure altogether separate from what he feels with Blaine.

Blaine wants to watch another guy worship Kurt, get hard and swollen from Kurt’s sounds and his skin and his sweat.

The whole world could belong to Kurt. The whole world could know how good Kurt is.

Except that Blaine hasn’t been thinking about the whole world this week. The men haven’t shifted day to day the way they used to, depending on who they’d hung out with or what movie they’d watched.

This week, it’s always Dave.

Blaine knows he should stop. That he should beat off to the thought of Kurt’s cock in his own mouth and his own ass and against his own skin.

Or Kurt with Taylor Lautner, if absolutely necessary.

But it would be perfect with Dave, really, if Kurt wanted it. Dave would be so good to him, so attentive, so eager to please.

Plus, Blaine’s noticed that secretive smile Kurt gets around Dave, and the way Kurt sits in the corner of the kitchen with his sketchbook, eyes moving between Dave’s face and the paper as he draws. Blaine’s watched Kurt draw Rachel countless times, and Kurt has never looked at her with the same attentiveness.

Blaine can’t get the images out of his head: of Dave’s fingers in Kurt’s ass; the look of amazement on Dave’s face; the closed-eye pleasure on Kurt’s; the way Kurt’s cock twitches against his stomach every time Dave strokes over Kurt’s favorite spot.

Blaine likes how Dave’s fingers are a little wider than his own, how they give Kurt a little more feeling of stretch and fullness. He watches them, watches Kurt’s pink hole spread and grasp with the addition of another finger. He listens to Dave’s moans, to his staggered breath, to Kurt’s sounds of pleasure and need. Blaine watches as Kurt grabs Dave’s shoulders, pulls him toward his face and kisses him mercilessly while still working himself up and down on Dave’s hand.

Blaine’s brain skips the transition, goes straight to Dave’s cock moving in and out of Kurt’s hole, stretched and hungry and taking, grabbing, using, wanting. It’s gorgeous, the way Kurt fucks Dave’s cock, makes Dave’s balls tighten with desire, makes Dave beg for Kurt to come.

 _Patience, patience,_  Kurt says soothingly, then groans with anything but patience as he thrusts his hips toward Dave, sinking Dave all the way into him, making Dave go cross-eyed with ecstasy.

They fuck and fuck and fuck, Kurt’s face distorted with joy; his chest, shoulders, neck and face flushed pink with pleasure; his cries like music. Dave kisses Kurt’s neck, leaves small bruises of want on his collarbone. Kurt bites Dave’s fingers, sucks them until the skin is shriveled and white. They kiss and tongue each other’s mouths and all the while Kurt keeps fucking Dave’s dick, fucks until Dave can’t kiss anymore, just mutters a stream of nearly incomprehensible words that sound mostly like  _Thank you_  and wraps a strong hand around Kurt’s cock.

 _Oh Dave, Dave, you’re so good, make me feel it,_ Kurt shouts before his eyes go wide, before he’s spilling white over Dave’s hand, before he comes over and over again around Dave’s cock, his hole twitching so hard it looks like it could swallow Dave whole, hold onto him forever and never let go –

And Dave is coming too, with a choked cry of  _Kurt yes_  and then, as the pulsing slows,  _You’re all I’ve ever wanted._

Blaine slides his hand desperately over his dick and of course he comes, too – comes so hard that he can’t stop himself from shouting into the emptiness of the house.

The aftershocks move up and down his body, reminding Blaine of the aftershocks that move through Kurt’s body when he comes, the way they sometimes stop for a minute and start up again, making Blaine so grateful that he gets to make Kurt fall apart this way.

Blaine should really wipe the come off his stomach, roll off of the bed and run the sheets through the washer and dryer before anyone gets home. But he can’t. It’s the hardest he can remember coming without Kurt in the room. His arms and legs are jelly. He’s warm and safe and so in love.

He half-remembers, half-dreams of Kurt and Dave side-by-side in the kitchen, studying quietly until Kurt suddenly bounces in his chair, slaps his hand down on Dave’s textbook, and says, “Listen!” Kurt reads a couple lines of Edna St. Vincent Millay out loud, and Dave blushes and says, “I don’t understand how you keep finding poetry that makes sense.”

Kurt smiles mischievously, bats his eyelashes a little. “Oh, Dave,” he says. “I’m going to make you love it one day, and then you’ll never go back.”


End file.
